It was sensitive, harmonious; and its harmony was not, as in some faces, cold--but seemed to tremble and glow and flutter, as though it were a spirit which had found its place of resting.
In her garden,--all velvety grey, with black shadows beneath the yew-trees, the white flowers alone seemed to be awake, and to look at her wistfully.

The trees stood dark and still.

Not even the night birds stirred.

Alone, the little stream down in the bottom raised its voice, privileged when day voices were hushed.
It was not in Audrey Noel to deny herself to any spirit that was abroad; to repel was an art she did not practise.

But this night, though the Spirit of Peace hovered so near, she did not seem to know it.